


Once in a Lifetime

by BirdInTheCave



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Tony Stark, Blood and Torture, Both Tony and Clint, Child Neglect, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Plot in progress, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Team, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Burn, Team as Family, Title to be Changed, To Be Edited, Torture, budding friendship, relatively, team comes in after trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-02-28 07:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdInTheCave/pseuds/BirdInTheCave
Summary: Normal, Clint decided a long time ago, is the wrong word to use when trying to describe his unbelievably out-of-wack life. Normal people don't have almost superhuman aim. Normal people don't have an assassin best friend to fit their own assassin lifestyle. Normal people don't run away from a shitty home life to a circus that specializes in crime. Normal people certainly don't jump across rooftops fighting evil forces with a ragtag group of Superheroes put together by a secret agency that employs his previously stated assassin lifestyle. If he was any other person he'd think it sad that being abducted from his top-notch security home was just another run-of-the-mill operation for him. Being who he is, however, he's just annoyed at the fact that he's not alone in his oh so graceful kidnapping and his partner, in this case, isn't someone who would be useful in the situation. No, it just happens to be Tony fucking Stark.Great job Barton, let's see how this one turns out.





	1. How it Starts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onceuponaprincey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponaprincey/gifts).



> Whoops, my hand slipped.

Clint heaves a sigh for what feels like the millionth time that morning alone, bare chest glistening from a sheen of water. He stares himself in the eyes, the edges of the mirror still fogged from the scalding shower he’d just taken, and refuses to blink. His worn down reflection glared back with familiar cold and steely silver eyes but a part of him still expected them to fade into an almost glowing electric cerulean. Calloused fingers flexed, gripping the sides of the porcelain sink and he watched as his arms flexed and his muscles tensed. His eyes trailed along the skin of his arms and glanced at the exposed flesh of his chest. He took in every scar despite having memorized the intricate map they’d carved into his body. Some marks were ugly and knotted, raised and still pink in places despite being years old like the puckered wound on his shoulder that throbbed during especially cold winters. Others were thin, white, little things that one could overlook as if they were but an accidental slip of hand while shaving. Not him though, no, not Clint. He knew every scar, every mark, and he remembered every story no matter how old or how gruesome; he remembered. 

With a shake of his head he snapped himself from his thoughts and pushed himself away from the sink. It was one of those days where he woke up feeling off. A spark of discontent in his chest from the moment he woke up and old memories from however long ago haunting him at the edge of his thoughts. Usually Natasha would be there to snap him out of it and bring him back, stage him and his mind in a reality he couldn’t ignore, but she wasn’t here right now. She was on an uncover mission in a classified location (classified meaning she told him the moment she knew), gathering intel and had been for almost a week now. They’d both known he was long overdue for one of these contemplative remembrance spells-- he _refused_ to call them existential-- but neither of them mentioned it. He was a big boy, he could take care of himself.

He left the bathroom without a second glance at the mirror, unease blooming in his stomach at the idea of looking at himself again and possibly glancing at a blue that had only ever truly been there once. He made quick work of getting dressed, feeling goosebumps rise on his naked skin as he left the heat of the bathroom and entered the air conditioned bedroom attached. He grabbed the underwear laid on top of the clothes set out on his already pristinely made bed and tugged them on before sliding on the dark jeans underneath. He kept his room almost outrageously cold, the AC almost always running even in the winter months, but it was an odd comfort for him that no one questioned and Natasha understood. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks followed quickly by his oldest pair of steel-toed combat boots, S.H.I.E.L.D issue and practically falling apart but simultaneously comfortable and practical thanks to their worn down state and constant use. He could already feel the warmth seeping back into his skin, cloth soaking up any remainder of water left on his body. With yet another sigh he grabbed the shirt from his designated clothing pile, black and short-sleeved, and tugged it on over his head before stretching out an arm to grab the multipurpose hearing aids settled on his nightstand so he could put them in. 

Dressed enough to be decent with recently activated hearing Clint leaned back and fell onto the mattress, folding his arms comfortably underneath his head and staring at the high ceiling for a moment. He just needed to take a moment to take a breath. Not too long ago he was practically living on the Helicarrier with a rogue, run-down apartment he hadn’t spent any time in before Lucky, who had now been snuck into the tower with promise from J.A.R.V.I.S of telling no one. Now he lived on his own floor, with almost complete privacy if he so desired, in a tower filled with superheroes on a team he was a part of. It was a drastic change, going from unknown assassin to hidden Avenger. It was only thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D that his and Natasha’s faces were almost entirely undisclosed so they could continue their more stealth based line of work. It was an interesting life, certainly, but it was a good one. Clint thought it suited him well. 

“Agent Barton,” JARVIS’, no one referred to the A.I like the acronym he was, it just felt wrong, voice springing to life without so much as a whir, “It is approaching six a.m.” The A.I reported dutifully in his ever-so-polite British accent. Clint always wondered why JARVIS had such an accent but he’d never actually gotten around to asking the resident genius. Maybe if he got the chance today, before he forgot once again thanks to the interesting quality of their lives. 

“Thank you, JARVIS.” Clint responded, pushing himself up and snatching the old leather jacket laying next to him and standing as he shrugged it on. Clint had a rule to be out of his room on weekends by o’ six hundred on the dot so he could hit the communal kitchen before anyone else was awake, except Natasha, and get a head start on the day. None of them used their personal kitchens anyway. He wasn’t used to sleeping a lot, always something to do or missions to finish so it worked out for him. He had to stay on his toes, never too comfortable and always alert. 

“Of course, Agent Barton.” JARVIS assured, leaving Clint to only the near silent hum of the air conditioning. When he opened the door leading from the room portion of his floor a golden lump laying in front of his door like a roadblock hopped up and immediately began darting around his feet, practically falling against his legs.

Clint snorted and kneeled, smiling like a mad man as he ran his fingers through the dark caramel fur of the retriever and ruffling the mound of fluff as he scratched behind the dog’s floppy ears. Lucky blinked his single big brown eye at Clint and let out a soft whine before butting his head against the archer’s slowing hands, tail wagging a mile a minute when the man continued scratching with vigor. Clint laughed, tilting Lucky’s head up and gently bumping their foreheads together, “I’m sorry buddy,” he said with a particularly aggressive shake of the dog’s ruff, “I passed out as soon as I got back and I guess I didn’t notice you weren’t in the room with me.” Was it weird Clint took Lucky’s onslaught of slobbery licks as a reassurance? Probably, but Clint wasn’t really a normal guy anyway.

The dog, seeming to accept Clint’s apology without fault, turned and bolted excitedly down the small corridor leading to the large open space of the floor complete with living area and attached open kitchen along with more closets then any single person should need. Lucky made a b-line for the two dog bowls against the base of the breakfast bar separating said kitchen from said living area and gave Clint this sad, pleading look that only a dog could give. It didn’t matter how well fed Lucky was or how long ago the dog had eaten, one look at that superb little face and Clint would give Lucky anything. Natasha found it both adorable and pathetic how easily he could withstand various torture methods and then turn around and cave instantly at any mutt’s begging. 

He agreed wholeheartedly, but he’d never tell her that. 

Clint was quick to fill Lucky’s bowl with dog food before filling a stray cup with water from the fridge and tipping off the water dish. Lucky dug into the kibble like he was starving, tail swaying lazily as Clint ran a steady hand down the length of his spine. It was top of the line food, real meat and everything. Not Clint’s choice, but JARVIS had insisted that Tony said he’d care for their needs and that included, apparently, feeding his secret pet. It’s not like Tony would notice the charge of dog food on his receipts and JARVIS was sworn to secrecy so there was no reason to decline the offer. That means that Lucky was now eating better than he ever had, but if Clint was being honest the dog still had a diet mostly consisting of Pizza.

“Alright Luck, I’ll be back.” Clint gave the shaggy retriever one last affectionate scratch, “You and I both know the best coffee pot is on the communal level so you’ll have to eat alone today.” Lucky lifted his muzzle from the bowl for a moment and looked at Clint before turning back and lapping up some of the water. Clint huffed out an amused breath and stood, making for the elevator next to the door leading to the stairs with a vague wave towards the audibly crunching Lucky signifying the dog once again eating away. 

The trip down to the communal levels was short and sweet, the elevator sliding down without interruption as usual and opening to the familiar setting of the neutral zone. What wasn’t familiar was the sight of Tony Stark lounging on one of the couches looking for the most part asleep. If Clint was Clint he would’ve bought it. 

“So, where are the others?” Clint asked as he exited the elevator, making a b-line for the kitchen to his right and grabbing the pot from the coffee machine. He took a swig from the almost empty container and turned to look over the breakfast bar at the figure of Tony Stark taking up the length of the couch. He knew, of course, where Natasha was, and Thor was off with his girlfriend somewhere, but Steve and Banner had still been in the tower when he’d retreated to his floor the night before. Usually, Clint could here Steve getting ready this early and Banner was usually wherever Stark was. Considering Stark was here and he hadn’t heard Steve preparing for his morning run, the two weren’t around. 

Stark grunted, removing the arm that was tossed carelessly over his eyes to tilt his head up and glare at Clint, “It’s too early for questions, come back later.” The arm was then re-situated over Tony’s face and the genius made a show of tilting his entire body away from the kitchen and therefore the archer inside.

“It’s no one’s fault but yours that you didn’t sleep last night, Stark,” Clint downed the rest of the pot and slid it back onto its stand before opening the fridge and grabbing an apple from the lower drawer. “JARVIS, can you tell me where Steve and Banner are?” He requested, taking a loud bite from the fruit in his hand and relishing in the way Tony cringed from his place in the room over. 

“Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner were called away to S.H.I.E.L.D at exactly four-thirty a.m, Agent Barton.” JARVIS’ soothing British tone filtered down from the ceiling, “And may I apologize for Sir’s behavior, he may have ingested too much alcohol for a normal night.” Clint raised an eyebrow, gazing at the billionaire almost expectantly waiting for the man to dignify the A.I’s confession with some snarky response. Instead, all Clint heard was an oddly dejected sigh.

Clint pushed away from the fridge and took another, much quieter, bite of his apple. He looked Tony over but there was nothing new to see, the man just looked exhausted. Maybe the exhaustion just ran a lot deeper than Clint first suspected. “Are you hungover?” he questioned, eyes narrowing when Tony huffed. “Am I gonna have to ask the A.I again?” 

“What do you think, Hawk-ass?” Tony tried to sound casual but the words came out strained through clenched teeth. 

Clint hummed softly, if only to prove that he hadn’t left while Tony wasn’t looking, and strode silently towards the couch and crossed him arms. He looked back on the last couple days trying to determine if anything had been amiss but Tony hadn’t been any extravagant kind of self-destructive recently and Clint had never been fooled by the man’s masks before. So he lifted himself carefully onto the back of the couch, skillfully unnoticed and balanced, and sat back on his haunches on the the spine. Just watching Tony now was like watching a star implode in slow motion, it was like with every breath the billionaire’s skin grew paler and his hands more clammy. He rested his arms on his knees simply for the illusion of being casual and tilted his head. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. Tony startled at his sudden close proximity, flailing in attempt to keep his over-the-top reaction from landing him on the floor. He gripped the dark cushions to keep himself steady and glared at Clint with frightened brown eyes. But it was more than that, there was something more than basic surprise in those eyes. There was something that made Tony _afraid_ lingering in the back of those eyes. Clint felt himself tensing, shoulders squaring, and the urge to clench his jaw and grind his teeth snuck up on him. It’s not an unusual feeling, a kind of primal protectiveness that came with who he was and the shit he’s been through. The unusual part was that it was directed towards _Tony_ , of all people. 

“I need to get you and Romanoff bells,” Tony insisted, falling back against the arm of the couch as his heart ceased racing. It wasn’t the first time Tony’s said something like that and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last, but the genius never acted on it. Besides, they’d just take off any jingling bobbles anyway. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Clint rumbled, voice low and cautious but tinted with the underlying concern he felt bubbling up inside of him. The look on Tony’s face and the way the man held himself made it very clear to Clint he was dealing with a wild animal. 

“Not important-” Tony tried to deflect. Always deflecting; always hiding. 

“Very important,” Clint interrupted gruffly, glaring daggers at the man and daring the brunette to argue. Tony, against all odds, obeyed. That was setting off even more alarms in Clint’s head. Tony never backed down on the opportunity to argue it out with him, usually a battle of wit and snark between the two. Clint’s never seen Tony be so compliant without so much as a comeback. So Clint sighed again, rolling his shoulders and doing his best to release the tension that coiled his muscles tight. He was getting tired of sighing so much. “Look, Tony, we’re on a team together and against popular belief I do give a shit about the people I work with. So can you stop bullshitting me for like fifteen minutes and tell me what’s wrong?” Not his best motivational speech by a long shot, but perhaps it’ll do. 

Tony stared at him. He stared hard and long and kept his face as neutral and blank as an expressive guy like Tony could. If Clint was anyone else he wouldn’t be able to read the emotions that continued to explode in brown orbs, he wouldn’t have been able to see the pain and fear and wariness. He was shocked to see the inkling of hope, the slight dilation fighting against the fight or flight response ticking like a time bomb inside Tony’s head. Clint didn’t break eye contact and let his face relax, hoping the protective fire that shone in him was at least somewhat visible to the billionaire. He wanted Tony to know he was serious. That he wasn’t just fucking with him. He knew he could very well say it out loud if need be, but he wasn’t the best with words at the best of times let alone on one of his very own off days. 

For a moment the two of them seemed locked in their own little psychic match of tug-o-war. Trying to prove which one of them had a higher will power and see which one of them would walk away first. Tony’s expression became more and more calculating as the seconds ticked by and slowly but surely the steel left his features. The world decided it was Tony’s turn to sigh, for which Clint was thankful, and the Stark practically melted into the cushions of the expensive furniture. Those haunted eyes stared at the ceiling now but to Clint it seemed more like Tony was gazing through it, off into a reality that only he could see. They were silent for a few moments more. Clint was content to wait. 

“Do you know how I got this?” Tony finally broke the silence, raising an arm from where it had landed thrown over his stomach to tap the reactor in his chest. The room was filled with a soft _tink tink_ as Tony’s nail clinked against the metal skeleton. 

Another beat of silence. 

“Afghanistan. A man named Yinsen helped you make it.” Clint answered in a quiet tone, not quite a whisper but a voice clearly trying not to disturb the atmosphere. Clint remembered the files perfectly, any important information he had access to regarding his team- _friends_ \- was knowledge he made himself well-acquainted with. “I’m sorry, for what happened.” He added distractedly, as an afterthought. Tony seemed shocked by the words, eyeing him carefully before returning his gaze to where it still stared through the ceiling. 

“It was the first time something like that happened to me,” Tony confessed. Another beat of silence, “Guess my irresistible charm couldn’t resist the bad guys for long.” The man joked, pathetic smile pulling at chapped lips. Clint gave Tony his best unimpressed look but the flimsy smile didn’t fall. Vaguely, Clint wondered if Tony knew he’d never fallen for any of the facades the other man had ever put on. “Thing is, something like that just doesn’t leave you alone.” 

Clint hummed. Turning his gaze from Tony and deciding it was time for him to stare through something. He met his own eyes in the reflection of the dark screen of the T.V and barely restrained his physical flinch, hands clenching tightly into fists where they hung between his legs, toes curling within the confines of his boots. His own gaze became unfocused, blurring the figure perching on the couch in the reflection. Clint almost thought there was a flash of blue. 

“Yeah,” He muttered, low and dark and distracted. He heard Tony shift below him and he could practically see the curious expression on the man, eyes glinting with a need to know. Curiosity killed the cat, Bruce would say. Satisfaction brought it back, Stark would shoot back with that certain careless ease he was known for. Forcing himself back into the present, Clint turned to meet Tony’s eyes for the third time that night, “Somethings will haunt you. For the rest of your life, even, but you aren’t going to get better internalizing it.” 

The staring started up, again, eyes locked in that same tug-o-war. It seemed gentler this time though. It was more like a battle of who deserved comfort. Who was worthy of both of their attention. Tony’s chocolate irises were glazed over with a wet sheen and the fear had retreated in Clint’s presence. It gave the archer a brutal sense of satisfaction knowing he’d chased away the bad things. They were filled with more of that spark of hope that he’d thought he’d seen earlier. The curiosity had replaced the wariness, a distraction Tony had so clearly welcomed. Clint was sure he didn’t fair much better, his brief eye contact with himself for the second time that day had left him feeling vulnerable and he was certain he was looking at Tony with a fondness and need that usually only Natasha was privy to. He was too relieved not to be alone on a day as bad as this one was turning out to be to not feel the desire to be close to Tony. Tony was a good distraction. He was an attention seeker, even when he wasn’t intentionally screaming “Look at me!” If Clint had to focus on Tony, he didn’t have to focus on himself. 

They came to a crossroad in their little battle, breaking away and looking their own separate ways once again. Clint hung his head for a moment, glaring at the fists still clenched between his knees. With one more sigh he stood, watching as Tony looked at him alarmed as if he was going to leave, and proceeded to kick Tony’s legs off the end of the couch. 

Tony squawked, offended beyond belief at the assault, but he didn’t fight as Clint lowered himself onto the now available cushion. Tony huffed, pouting the the only way he knew how (meaning: over the top) before he laid his legs over Clint’s lap. It was clear the man expected to be shoved away, but Clint just smirked at him and rested his arms on the man’s shins. Tony sputtered; Clint chuckled. The contact was nice, though, and oddly enough he didn’t feel invaded by Tony’s touch. It was warm and gentle, heavier than Natasha’s comforting hands and larger than her soothingly familiar weight, but it was nice. Maybe he didn’t have to deal with a bad day on his own, maybe he could use someone else on the team as a Plan B for when ‘Tasha was gone. Maybe he had more options. 

Tony scoffed, drawing Clint’s attention again, but smirked back after getting over the shock of the assassin’s compliance to his utter ridiculousness. 

“Movie?” Clint suggested. 

Tony eyed him for another moment, something on his face that Clint didn’t bother to read. It wasn’t scrutinizing and it made the ever-so-distracting curiosity flare. Distraction is what they needed. He could handle a little not knowing. 

Another beat of silence. 

“Hell yeah.” Tony smiled, snatching the remote off the glass coffee table and turning on the T.V. He winced subtly at the bright light the screen shone directly into his eyes. Clint restrained from laughing, aware the man likely had a nice headache from his hangover and he didn’t want to ruin this moment seeing as he didn’t know if there would ever be another one like it. 

“JARVIS, can you dim the T.V brightness?” Clint asked smugly. 

“Of course, Agent Barton.” The T.V dimmed accordingly and Tony sagged further into the cushions. 

“Thanks, Legolas.” He smirked. 

“Anytime, Tin Can.” Clint gave his best smile back.


	2. It's Culture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't edited in any way, whatsoever, please forgive me for I have sinned.

Tony was absolutely baffled by Clint’s lack of education. By that he didn’t mean he thought Clint was stupid, not by any means- the guy was way smarter than he let on, but what kind of innocent soul doesn’t know what the hell _Bee Movie_ is? Not that Tony didn’t wish he had that ignorance but he was a major figure in both the media and in technology, not to mention his admittedly… _odd_ reputation. But _c’mon_ the thing was still huge and it came out years ago. Clint, still “trapped” beneath Tony’s legs, did not look nearly as amused as Tony felt. 

“What?” Clint snapped, glaring Tony down with eyes made of sharpened steel. Tony would have kicked the man instinctively if he didn’t know that the archer didn’t pose an actual threat to him. 

“We’re watching it.” Tony said in lieu of answer, already looking back towards the T.V so he could hit play on the old and very terrible movie. 

“Tony, I don’t want to watch a kids movie about bees.” Clint huffed, turning his glare from the billionaire to the movie cover displayed in the top left corner of the screen next to the equally terrible movie description. There was something about the way Clint said it that made Tony snigger, teeth grinding together in an effort to keep from laughing any louder. 

“What do you have against bees, Barton?” Tony shot back, grin growing wider when Clint’s jaw visibly clenched. However, before he could hit play, the archer was leaning forward and expertly snatching the remote from his hands leaving them empty. Tony gasped, offended, and slapped a hand over the reactor embedded in his chest. “Thief.” He accused. 

Clint rolled his eyes, which was a little odd from Tony’s point of view seeing as he’d never actually seen the guy do that before. Huh. 

“I wouldn’t have to steal your shit if you’d pick an actually okay movie.” Clint insisted, a glint of something teasing in his eyes. Tony smirked. This was his favorite side of the archer; the joking, teasing, fun, prankster side. He had been there the first time Clint had pulled a prank on one of the Avengers. The shocked look on Steve’s face when flour had exploded from a kitchen cabinet when he’d opened it. The way the leader had turned to give Tony this look of utter betrayal that was slowly merging with a rising annoyance. Bruce just stood by the coffee pot in complete shock. They’d all been baffled when Natasha had walked in, seen the disaster that had become of them, sent them this terrifying smile and said ,in her usual serious tone, “He likes you.” They’d only figured out it was Clint when he’d come down later that day with this satisfied, accomplished expression and told Steve without even looking that the blonde had flour in his hair. 

“It’s culture.” He argued. 

“It’s stupid.” Clint responded while scrolling through the more like this section below the subject of their argument.

“It was made to save the bees.” Tony informed. 

“What a great job it did.” Clint snarked.

“You, sir,” Tony began, “Are a terrible person. I bet you kill bees.” 

“I bet you’ve killed more.” Clint huffed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face at the sight of one of the movies. 

“Touché.” Tony caved with a shrug, turning to look at whatever monstrosity the agent had paused on. He couldn’t withhold the snort of laughter that escaped him when he saw that it was the Minions movie. 

“What the hell is the world making?” Clint muttered, eyes narrowing as he continued to gaze at the movie’s cover with clear bewilderment. 

Tony barked out another laugh at the statement, stifling his amusement moments later he asked, “You don’t really do animation, do you?” 

“Disney’s the only animated stuff I’ve ever watched, and that was back when I was a kid.” Clint admitted with an uncaring shrug, shaking off his sense of curiosity and continuing to scroll. Tony watched him, trying to think of any animated movies that the man absolutely had to see. 

“Wait, does that mean you haven’t seen any of Disney’s newer stuff?” Tony questioned in sudden realization. If not, there was a movie that Tony was going to shove down Clint’s throat just for shits and giggles. Not that what he had in mind wasn’t actually a good movie, but he wasn’t the biggest animation buff either. However, it was rare one could go wrong with something like Disney. 

Clint shook his head with another shrug. 

“Give me the remote.” Tony demanded, holding out his hand and waiting impatiently while Clint turned to look at him. “C’mon Merida, we don’t have all day.” Tony had the grand epiphany, in that moment, that Clint had no idea who Merida was. That wouldn’t do, so of course Tony would force Clint to watch it later, but he had more pressing matters at hand. Clint slowly handed the remote over, obviously hesitant but curious about whatever bullshit Tony was so clearly cooking up. Tony was a fan of his asshatery getting him places, it’d always been a useful skill of his. 

Tony, not wanting to give away him surprise, quickly typed the title into the remote and waited for the cover to appear on the screen. He was practically vibrating with misplaced excitement, Clint staring at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement that made Tony even more excited. Clint had always been the more expressive of the two assassins but that didn’t mean he was very expressive in general. It was seeing all the emotions cross Clint’s face that was adding to Tony’s enthusiasm in the first place. He watched Clint carefully from the corner of his eye as the movie popped up. 

“Tony,” He sounded so done with the billionaire, it took all Tony had not to laugh and ruin the rest of this glorious moment. “I want you to look at me,” Clint said, waiting for Tony to turn to look at his unamused face. “And tell me if you think this is something that I would be into.” 

“Oh c’mon! It’s Disney, and it’s actually good. Give it a chance. A tiny chance. Do it for me.” Tony dramatically draped his torso over the couch arm, hand to his forehand and legs pressing into Clint’s. “I thought we were friends, Barton, really. I’m hurting.” He continued, laying the Stark Snark on thick. 

“Jesus Tony, just turn on the movie.” Clint gave in, jerking his knees up and successfully knocking Tony back to his original position. Tony complied without a word, pressing play and smirking victoriously as the Disney intro started up. “You’re a nuisance, Stark.” There was no bite behind the remark, however. There was no fondness either, but Tony would take the neutral tone as a win. 

And that was how Tony got Clint to watch Zootopia with him. It was touch and go for a while, Clint watching the introduction with a skeptical look before finally relaxing and listening as Tony commented on the film and all of it’s pieces. “You’re totally the fox,” Tony said, pointing lazily at the screen. “Gruff mysterious asshole who’s good at what they do.” He elaborated when Clint sent him a curious look. The archer’s eyes narrowed, staring Tony down for a quick uncomfortable second before he seemed to accept the answer with a nod. 

“Bruce is the otter.” Clint said in passing when the Emit Otter-whatever character was introduced. He seemed to have been waiting for the right moment, because he said it right when Tony was tipping back a glass of water the archer had shoved in his direction fifteen minutes earlier. Tony promptly choked, spilling a quarter of the glass on himself as he jerked and coughed in an attempt to clear his airways. Clint, the asshole, laughed at him while he leaned over the edge of the couch and hacked up a lung. Dick. 

Near the end of the movie, when the big buffalo chief guy came up again, they shared a look. “Fury.” They said in unison. This time they laughed together. Tony was proud to have a moment shared with the secretive archer. Especially one like this one. It was a lot more real than giving each other pats on the back for mutual jobs well done. 

The credits began not long after, Shakira’s voice thrumming from the speakers and making Tony tap his foot with every well placed beat. Clint watched, face blank, as the sexy tigers came out and danced about the screen with Shakira’s character. Tony watched Clint, having already seen the tigers when the movie had first come out. Clint’s face shifted occasionally, displaying emotions masked well enough that Tony couldn’t quite place them. 

“Why are there sexy tigers?” Clint finally asked as the screen shifted to other characters dancing. 

Tony snorted, “Why shouldn’t a kids movie have a little fan service for the adults?” he retorted. Clint made a face at that. Like he was trying a lemon for the first time. 

“That’s bestiality, and weird.” He sent Tony a strange look. “Isn’t fan service an anime thing?” He asked as an after thought. 

Tony couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past, “We stole the term, like we steal everyone’s.” He shook his head, sending Clint one of his best I’m-not-making-fun-of-you-but-we-both-know-I-am smiles. “Anyway, there anthropomorphic and human-functioning. Are you trying to say Furries are into bestiality, Clint?” He accused, waggling his eyebrows expectantly at the archer. 

Clint sent him another glare, elbowing the genius’ shin. Tony’s pained shout obviously gave the other man a sick satisfaction seeing as it was painted all of his stupid smug face. “That’s obviously not what I’m saying jackass.” Clint insisted, “Just that it’s weird in a kid’s movie. I don’t remember a lot of… _fan service_ in the movies I’m used to watching from Disney.” 

Tony shrugged, “You said you watched them when you were a kid,” He took a drink from his glass, eyeing Clint suspiciously so the guy couldn’t try to drown him on land again. “Most kids don’t really recognize that kind of shit.” He assured, awkwardly reaching up to pat Clint’s shoulder like the man was in need of comfort. 

Clint gave him a look that very clearly meant _”Do that again and I’ll stab you”_ but Tony found it to be progress when he wasn’t sure if Clint meant it or not. They watched the actual credit sequence scroll for a few minutes in a comfortable near-silence broken only by the movie’s music. Tony sucked in a gentle breath through his nose, letting it out in a slow thoughtful sigh. He was sure Clint noticed, but he was kind enough not to say anything. 

Tony thought about what exactly had been on his mind before Clint had shown up at too early in the morning. He’d definitely been in one of his slumps. The ones that not even Pepper had ever been able to pull him out of. His mind was replaying bits and pieces from his run-in with Afghanistan, the torture and the desperation that he had felt in those moments. He had been remembering Yinsen’s face before the man had run off to buy Tony more time. It had been one of grim acceptance; resignation. Tony had watched the screen uploading the programs with fear, pleading desperation, and need. It had been too late, in the end, and Pepper never could have understood that. 

It had been when Clint showed up and forced him to see some sense that he had been pulled from his head. It had been when Clint had made it so obvious that he had been through terrible things, revealed pieces of himself that Tony wasn’t used to seeing, that Tony realized he wasn’t alone in his suffering anymore. It was a strange epiphany he had tried to squash with jokes and more beer, but that had inevitably failed. 

He’d always known that his teammates have been through horrible, traumatizing things. Steve having fought in the war and buried himself deep in the ice for so long everything he’d ever known was practically gone. Bruce was so afraid of himself and what the other guy could do, he’d been on the run from bad people for a long time. Thor had heapings of family issues that would traumatize anyone, God included. What little Natasha file held was dripping with red and unforgettable pains. Clint’s wasn’t much different, only having a bit more information than the widow. Clint’s was filled pools of red and missions that had gone terribly wrong. Tony wasn’t an idiot though, he knew that not even close to all the information was in those files. He knew that Fury had an old fashioned filing cabinet filled to the brim with information on every agent. What he’d seen on the digital platforms, however, was more than enough for Tony. As impatient as he is, he could wait for his teammates to want to open up to him. At least he could try to. 

It was odd to him. Knowing that the people around him no longer just said they understood but _meant it_. He would never admit it, not when he was sober enough to hold his tongue, but it meant so much to him. It filled a hole in his chest he hadn’t even been aware of until it wasn’t there anymore. 

“Hey,” Clint’s voice was pitched low, careful and soft. Tony shifted his gaze from the T.V, the screen having gone black when he wasn’t paying attention. He looked Clint dead in the eye. That seemed to be a new theme for them. The storm of gray was softened from it’s usual harsh steel. The care and attention that Tony saw there put a lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to shake no matter how much he tried to swallow it down. “Are you okay?” 

Was he? He wasn’t sure, most days. He’s spent so much time hiding behind facades and masks that he was getting confused on where the line between reality and pretend was. Instead, he nodded slowly. He felt okay. He didn’t feel lost, or broken, or hurt. He just felt… thoughtful; nostalgic. He was reminiscing on the good and the bad and it put him into a head space that made him feel almost numb. 

“Yeah,” Tony’s voice was strained and hesitant. Part of him was unsure if he should continue. The part of him that spewed anxieties. The part damaged the most by his father’s neglectful ways. “Yeah,” He began again, with more confidence. The lump in his throat faded away, his previous train of thought derailing and bringing him back to the now rather than the new and old. “Yeah, I’m alright. Thanks, Feathers.” 

“You already said that.” Clint responded. There was a gently grin on his face but his eyes were still soft and caring. It was a sign to Tony that Clint was just trying to tell him it was okay without really saying it. 

“Just know I mean it.” Tony pushed. He wasn’t one for mushy moments. He was the guy that made jokes and poked fun and dripped sarcasm no matter the situation. When he was being heartfelt and sincere it was important that it was recognized. It was important to _him_ that it was recognized. “Seriously, Clint, it means a lot.” 

Clint smiled. A real one. Not a grin, or a smirk. A smile. It wasn’t big or eccentric. It was small and genuine and kind. It was a glimpse into who the archer was and Tony felt warmth bloom in his chest at the implications of that. “I told you, Tony. Anytime.” Clint reached out and put a strong hand on Tony’s shoulder, it was an assurance and a truth. Tony felt a newfound bond with the assassin before him, a potential friendship similar to the ones he had with Rhodey and Pepper. The relationships he had with his two closest friends meant the world to him, the idea of having more people like them in his life was something that filled him with contentment. 

“Sir,” JARVIS began, the sudden noise making Tony’s thrumming hangover flare. The water Clint had forced in his direction had helped, but there was still a distinct ache that throbbed in his temples. “There appears to be a group of men trying to break into the tower. I’ve locked all entry points and contacted Captain Rogers. Is there any further action you would like me to take?” 

Okay, that wasn’t really what Tony was expecting. And to think, he was beginning to believe he was queuing up for a good day. Before Tony could respond Clint was pushing Tony’s legs off his lap and standing, walking towards the elevator while asking the A.I “Did the Captain give you an E.T.A?” Tony pushed himself to his feet, head momentarily spinning, but he moved to catch up. The archer didn’t have to wait for the elevator, JARVIS having already positioned it. 

“E.T.A is forty-seven minutes, Agent Barton.” JARVIS reported dutifully, the elevator ticking up quickly until the doors opened up to reveal Clint’s floor. “Your suit is on it’s way up, Sir. The group appears to be overriding my security, I’m sor-” JARVIS shut down with a whir before he could finish his apology.

While Clint strode through the living space towards his room Tony’s eyes immediately found the dog laying on the couch getting bright blonde fur all over the expensive piece of furniture. Tony walked in and eyes the canine warily. “Since when did you have a dog!” Tony yelled across the floor. He watched as the dog perked up, ears swiveling and flicking as it turned to gaze at him with a single brown eye. Okay, creepy. 

“Since I’ve had a dog!” Clint yelled back after a minute of silence. The dog’s tail wagged at the sound of its master’s voice, mouth opening and tongue rolling out in a very dog-ish smile. If it started slobbering Tony was gonna leave, intruders or not. He was not in the mood to get slobbered on. 

Clint rounded the corner, quiver strap tightly secured across his chest and box in his other hand. The way his jacket scrunched up, leather bunching under his arms, looked both restrictive and uncomfortable but Tony had no doubt that the blond would still be able to hit any target he shot at. It was while Clint was walking over that one of the windows behind Tony smashed, the Iron Man suit flying up and quickly opening up to attach itself to him. The dog barked, standing and crouching low while the metal suit expertly molded itself to Tony’s body. Clint clicked his tongue and the dog trotted over, moving behind his legs and eyeing Iron Man with fierce uncertainty. 

“C’mon.” Clint tilted his head towards the stairs, moving towards the door without getting any sort of confirmation from Tony. So much for bonding moments, then. 

They moved down the staircase as a unit, the dog left behind on Clint’s floor much to the mutt’s chagrin. Tony’s suit whirred and clicked subtly which each movement but every noise seemed to echo down the stairs. He could see Clint grinding his teeth together, hold tightening on the grip of his bow, obviously annoyed with Tony’s complete lack of stealth. It was nice of the guy not to say anything, though, but Clint was in mission mode and that tended to result in a minimal amount of talking. 

Clint suddenly raised his hand in that universal sign of stop that everyone saw in every action movie known to man. Silence filled the air, only their breathing audible to Tony through the speakers on his helmet. The sudden sound of a door opening was startling and Tony wondered how the hell Clint had known as soft footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Luckily, the JARVIS installed in Tony’s suit was still active. His vision switched to thermal without the need of a command, counting up the bodies that were approaching from three floors below. He reached forward, careful of the gentle noises his suit made and tapped Clint’s shoulder. When he got Clint’s attention he held up five fingers to tell him how many people he counted below. Clint gave a curt nod and promptly jumped over the railing. 

“Fuck,” Tony couldn’t help but hiss as the bowman fell down the large center space between the coiling staircases. He watched as Clint fired two arrows with ease, the grunts of pains and shouts of surprise reverberating through the closed space. He figured that was as good a cue as he would get and flew down the space himself, firing a repulsor blast at one of the men fumbling to grab the pistol holstered at his hip. A few bullets pinged off the suit but when he turned to handle it Clint was already snapping the man’s neck with a sense of ease Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever achieve despite his company’s previous intentions. “Give a guy a warning next time, Barton.” 

Clint simply brushed past him, shrugging as he made for the door their assailants had entered through, “I could’ve handled it.” 

“Not the point,” Tony snarked, landing gracefully and following after his teammate. “JARVIS?” He asked expectantly. 

“No scans are picking up any signs of life besides Agent Barton, Lucky, and yourself, Sir.” The A.I reported. 

“Lucky?” Tony questioned. 

“The dog, Sir.” JARVIS clarified. 

Clint opened the door, unsurprisingly landing themselves back in the commons, and scanned the room. “JARVIS says there are no more life signs in the building.” Tony informed, watching as Clint’s eyes flicked over every part of the room with practiced calculation and precision. 

Of course, it was that moment that a shrill ringing broke through the air. Tony’s vision darkened and flashed as the monitors of the helmet’s interface fizzled and flickered before going out, the suit itself locking into place as it short-circuited. The noise had Tony’s head splitting in two, vision blurring, his headache kicking back up with a vengeance. With his head-spinning and movement restricted he didn’t even notice when the ringing stopped, or when someone was walking up to him. He was startled back into the present when a voice spoke up right beside him. Finally, his eyes focused again and he quickly took note of the men laid out on the floor around Clint. Blood pooling beneath some of them while others’ heads were facing the wrong direction, an image that didn't help Tony's already rolling stomach. A knife was held in Clint’s hand that dripped with crimson, the same red was splattered against the archer, the smears glinting on his face and adding a shin to his jacket that hadn’t been there before. There were more men creeping up on the assassin, keeping a safe distance, but Clint’s focus was on whoever was next to Tony. 

“I suggest you drop your weapons, Mr. Barton.” A heavy German accent filtered in through the openings in the helmet, voice low and definitely male. “There are tools I have that I will not hesitate to use on Mr. Stark here. You wouldn’t want to risk the man’s safety, would you?” Oh, how Tony wished he could see this asshole. He’d like it a lot more if he thought he could open his mouth without puking, too, but that wasn’t as important, obviously. 

“Barton,” He tried, voice strained and croaking, he felt bile fill the back of his throat and let out a harsh breath. 

“Ah, ah, ah, hush now Mr. Stark. This is your companion’s decision.” The German man said not unkindly. He was annoyingly polite and smug, like every British bad guy on television pretty much ever. 

Clint’s eyes narrowed, there was a long pause, and then he threw the knife. It embedded itself into the throats of one of the men behind him, Clint snapped the neck of another one within the next second. _He put it down,_ Tony mused to himself as Clint spun around and grabbed the fist of the next man that rushed him, twisting the arm and snapping it with ease before another shrill shrieking filled the air. Tony felt white hot pain fill his head again, his vision whiting out in a flash before flickering back. He watched the blurred figure of Clint grip his head before falling to his knees. 

“Clint!” He heard himself shout, muffled and distant, as the man he had been watching Disney movies with not even thirty minutes ago collapsed into a heap on the floor. It was after that the German moved in front of him and looked into the cold eyes of the Iron Man suit. Too bad Tony’s vision was too blurry to make out anything but spiked black hair and pale skin.

It was then, that things went black.

**Author's Note:**

> DIdn't know "Be nice to Clint Barton" was a tag. Interesting.


End file.
